


what's in the water (are you bothered)

by softcoregore



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Drunk Michael, Drunkeness, Eventual Romance, Fluff, M/M, Or Is It?, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softcoregore/pseuds/softcoregore
Summary: Michael doesn't get drunk often, but when he does, he does. And Luke now has to deal with the brunt of drunken Michael's affections and attention.





	what's in the water (are you bothered)

**Author's Note:**

> isn't it funny how ill fail both my english qualifications but think i can write fanfics... hm.
> 
> also this may seem disjointed bcos im currently drunk during writing this... honestly i dont give a fuck anymore about anything.

The room was spinning and it was kinda funny as heck.

 

Lights were flashing about, like a neon party circling his body in the dim, dark nightclub, and it made Michael feel like he was the centre of the universe. Or, at least, like he was on some of those funky opiates which made the whole world go in a slo-mo can't-touch-this bubble, like the pills turned his head into a long exposure camera.

 

He didn't really take drugs though. It may be a whole "Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll" lifestyle that he used to aspire to when he was fourteen and stuck in a tiny room in a boring Sydney suburb, staring at the posters of Nirvana up on his wall, but now he wanted to be clear-headed; the memory he wanted to leave, the music he wanted to be his legacy wasn't going to be fuelled by opioids and pretty white powders.

 

Fun didn't hurt occasionally however, which is why he was sat in the VIP section of some generic club in downtown LA, his head resting on Luke's scratchy black clothed legs, feet poking Calum steadily with every mistimed judder to the thumping bass beat.

 

Hours ago, he had walked in with his whole band, eager to take a break from the weeks of work in the studio on an album that felt it would never be ready. Eighteen shots and two blue cocktails in and the fun had definitely kicked in.

 

Ashton was god knows where, probably wrapped around a blonde Instagram model in a dark hallway, which happened to often for it not to be indicative of his type: pretty, ambitious and perfect.

 

Calum was sat in the corner of the sofa, scrolling through his phone mindlessly and sending a glance or two Michael's way when he felt the tapping in his side getting too erratic to be along to some kind of pointless song reverberating around black walls. For the most part, he seemed sober, only sipping on a beer and doing a shot when he felt pressured to by the significantly more drunk best friends to the side of him.

 

More drunk is only accurate to a point. More drunk was Michael, who was completely smashed and in his own head, barely legible thoughts coming out. More Tipsy was Luke, fumbling slightly with the grip on his drink but still solid in his ability to be coherent enough to seem only buzzed.

 

Sat up straight, Luke was on the other end of the couch, carding his hands through Mikey's hair and listening to him ramble about absolutely nothing.

 

Michael looked up at Luke, eyes catching on the underside of chin, with the gentle scruff catching his eyes as he struggled to focus on the rest of Luke's face.

 

For some strange reason, his hands itched to feel the coarse hair along his jaw, see what it really felt like. If he was a lot less drunk he would've realised that it probably felt like his weird amalgamation of stubble and scruff and wasn't that interesting. But his drunk self had fewer boundaries from desire to action, didn't rely on the walls solidly built up over 4 years in the mainstream public eye. Which is why shaky hands were misaimedly making it up to the bottom of Luke's head, clumsily wrapping around his jaw and ears as he fumbled through the hairs underneath there. They did feel exactly like facial hair would, which was no surprise, but pale fingertips still traced shapes through the waves of hair, callouses scratching against the skin warm underneath it.

 

If Michael was less drunk and more aware of the fact that nowhere other than his mind was this really okay, he would've noticed Calum moving slightly; changing angles and using his phone to film the rather surreal moment, hushed giggles barely sounding as he fully notices the drunk guitarist poking and stroking Luke's non-existent but slightly stubbly double chin, little hums escaping his closed mouth as Michael glassily gazed up at Luke.

 

He was not drunk enough to miss the bemusement on Luke's face, and went to poke the furrowed brow staring down at him. The chin was no longer Michael's target, fuzzy dark eyebrows seemed way more fun now.

 

Luke seemed to be getting increasingly less confused and more worried with every poke aimed at his forehead.

 

Five minutes had passed of Michael’s arm feeling heavier and heavier, vision getting blurrier and fuzzy, when he was jolted up with an urgent tap of Luke’s knee against his waist, cutting and anxious. He smiled fuzzily up at the blonde only to put pushed up and surrounded on both sides by both Luke and Calum, sort of shadowed between the two broad bodies as he struggled to stand without stumbling, something that confused him greatly. As he started to regain his balance, he looked up at the two worried faces peering down at him, one more amused and squidgy than the other, and burst out laughing.

 

The whole thing just seemed immensely funny to him at that moment that his two best friends (albeit way more sober and probably sane minded) were staring down at him, Michael, as though he was going to slip and die which, illogical first of all.

 

The newfound urgency after they had forced him up out of his comfortable position hadn’t seemed to have been lost by his hysterical fit, however, and he found himself being pull-shoved down the back hallway and out of the club, still stumbling over his own feet. Along the way they appear to have picked up Ashton, red-mouthed and dazed, but Michael wasn’t really paying attention, instead wavering in and out of blankness and gazing at the blonde with a lip-ring who was too focussed on helping him into a black SUV.

 

Right as they opened the door to enter, a flash lit up the whole scene, and he couldn’t help but smile up at the paparazzi outside Warwick dazedly, something he would normally never do. Luke seemed to sense this and tugged him into the backseats with a frown on his face. The expression was so comedic to Michael at that point, so foreign to him when he normally saw nothing but smiles and fond exasperation that he reached up to fix it, still halfway out the car with Calum struggling to push him in. As his fingers fumbled up to smooth the crooked brow, he felt a seat belt being tugged against his ‘finally in the fucking car, fucking hell Mikey’ body, and settled back in the seat as he resumed playing with Luke’s eyebrows, this time in a vertical position, resting on his jean jacket-ed shoulder.

 

“Michael, are you alright?” Luke croaked down at him, the concern that he held in the club still lingering in his expression, having already left Calum, who was too busy videoing Ashton attempting to air drum some shitty song on the radio.

 

The fondness in Luke’s voice was so crystal-clear through Michael’s drunken haze that he couldn’t help but gaze adoringly (and stupidly) up at him, a little golden light warming up his face. And for some strange reason, he felt the urge to blurt out exactly everything what he was feeling. 

 

"Hey Luke, I love you, you know?" He mumbled against his clothed shoulder, cuddling closer to his best friend.

 

"Um, yeah, Michael... I know, we are best friends." Luke chuckled down at the dozy bleach blonde who was attempting to wiggle into his lap, slightly reassured by the reply he received instead of a lapful of vomit.

 

"Yeah but.. I think you're so good. You like, put up with me and you wear cool jean jackets and you're just such a good person, like... a good person." Michael said, slightly muffled by his own pressed up mouth and the fabric nudging against his mouth.

 

If he was more sober, he would've noticed Calum filming the entire thing, and the silence from the two other Australians as they realised how drunk Michael actually was, and how he was lamenting Luke's entire existence whilst dozing off against the very same boy.

 

"I- Michael... Thank you. I love you too." The words were whispered against Michael's temple as scruff scratched against it and made a home. Michael tried to reply to the boy but struggled to as the continued haze and comfort of where he was caught up with him, and he dozed off too far to make any kind of coherent reply other than mumbled syllables.


End file.
